


Fear

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Ficlet February 2021 [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Prompt Fic, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: When Gothmog separates Findecáno from the host at the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, there's one crucial tipping point: he's not separated alone.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Ficlet February 2021 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139036
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2021: Apocalypse No





	Fear

Findecáno knows fear like an old friend, especially on the battlefield. Through this understanding he can work through that fear, allow the cold rush of adrenaline to drive him forward instead of freezing him. Still, even though he knows himself to that extent, sometimes it does still catch him by surprise. And on the battlefield, a single misstep can be fatal. 

The crux here, he thinks in the back of his mind, dim and subconscious, is that he doesn't fight alone. Gothmog has separated him from the host of the fighting, yes, but he's also accidentally separated another warrior, wearing the mark of Turucáno's people. With one of his brother's people by his side, Findecáno can strategize, isn't locked in single combat with the Lord of Balrogs. 

"Behind you!" The call cones in the nick of time. There's a second Balrog, and this one has a wicked net of chains, the weights of which seem to be the cut off heads of maces. Findecáno swears, dodging the net and regrouping with his companion. The young elf has lost his helm, blood streaking down his temple. 

"We need backup," the boy says, clearly frightened, but working through it.  


"We  _ need _ to get back to the host." Findecáno agrees grimly, and they both dive in opposite directions as the Balrog with the net tries again. 

Theres a great cry, and someone comes out of absolutely nowhere, hamstringing the net-wielding Balrog, and then beheading it as it crumples. Findecáno's heart leaps for joy. They've held them off long enough for at least one person to come to their aid! 

It's Russandol, he realizes a second later, springing away from another swing of Gothmog's axe. He's never looked so beautiful before, Findecáno allows himself to think, though all he's getting are split second images in between trying to harry Gothmog. There's three of them now, so his attention is split. The fallen Balrog's corpse is lying atop its net, which means Gothmog won't be able to use it without considerable effort. That's good. Findecáno jerks his head to the young elf, trying to indicate that the boy should try to circle around the Balrog to catch him by surprise, and charges in, Russandol beside him. The young elf does seem to catch the hint, slipping behind Gothmog as he's busy dealing with the frontal assault. 

Gothmog dies with Findecáno and Russandol's swords through his throat after the youth copies Russansol's earlier tactic, severing the tendons in his legs. Findecáno rips his sword one way as Russandol goes the other, and Gothmog's head flies off in a gush of superheated blood. A cheer rises through the host as they see the giant fall, and press forward, driving back the remainder of the enemy's forces, demoralized and terrified by the loss of their leader. 

Findecáno loses consciousness at some point, too drained and injured from Gothmog's efforts to stay up. He wakes in a medical tent, and Russandol lies in the bed at his side. Surprising, but very welcome. He's watching Findecáno as though he expects him to vanish at any second. Findecáno smiles at him wearily. 

"Have we won?" He asks, the words rasping through a dry throat and making him cough. Russandol sits up, turning away to fetch a cup of clear, pure water, helping Findecáno sit up enough to drink it. It's the best water he's ever drunk. 

"Yes, Finno, we've won this battle." Russandol tells him, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from his face. "I thought I'd finally lost you, though. I came to your side as swiftly as possible." 

"You made it. You saved us." Findecáno reassures his beloved earnestly. Russandol nods, though he can see the tears glimmering in his eyes. He reaches up and cups Russandol's cheek gently. "All will be well," he says, soft and sweet. Russandol nods mutely, pressing his face to the crook of Findecáno's neck. Findecáno holds him, allowing him to shudder through tears of remembered fear. They've made it through the day. Through the battle. 

With Russandol at his side, Findecáno believes they'll make it through the war as well.

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this fic yes, Balrogs have tendons in their legs and are susceptible to both hamstringing and beheading. Also, the young elf is intended to be Maeglin, I just couldn't quite fit that in. 
> 
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